ke that was clearly one who
_might_ have beer, very unlike what Wilton then was.

"Wilton," he said, "come here and draw your chair by mine while I read
you a little story."

"O Ken, I'm so grateful that you don't hate and despise me though I am
a--"; he murmured the word "thief" with a shudder, and under his breath,
as he drew up his chair, and Kenrick read to him in a low voice the
story of Achan, till he came to the verses--

"And Achan, the son of Carmi, the son of Zabdi, the son of Zerah, of the
tribe of Judah, was taken.

"And Joshua said, _My son, give, I pray thee, glory to the Lord God of
Israel, and make confession unto him_; and tell me now what thou hast
done, hide it not from me.

"And Achan answered Joshua and said, Indeed I have sinned against the
Lord God of Israel, and thus and thus have I done."

And there Kenrick stopped, while Wilton said, "My son! You see Joshua
still called him `my son' in spite of all his sin and mischief."

"Yes, Raven boy, but that wasn't why I read you the story which has
often struck me. What I wanted you to see was this: The man was
detected--the thing had been coming, creeping horribly near to him;
first his tribe marked by the fatal lot, then his family, then his
house, then himself; and while he's standing there, guilty and detected,
in the very midst of that crowd who had been defeated because of his
baseness, and when all their eyes were scowling on him, and when he
knows that he, and his sons, and his daughters, are going to be burned
and stoned--at this very moment Joshua says to him, `My son, _give, I
pray thee, glory to the God of Israel_.' You see he's to _thank God_
for detecting him--thank God even at that frightful moment, and with
that frightful death before him as a consequence. One would have
thought that it wasn't a matter for much gratitude or jubilation; but
you see it _was_, and so both Joshua and Achan seem to have admitted."

"Ah, Kenrick!" said Wilton, sadly, "if you'd always talked to me like
that, I shouldn't be like Achan now."

Kenrick said nothing, but as he had received infinite comfort from Dr
Lane's treatment of himself, he took Wilton by the hand, and, without
saying a word, knelt down. Wilton knelt down beside him, and he prayed
for forgiveness for them both. A few broken, confused, uncertain words
only, but they were earnest, and they came fresh and burning from the
heart. They were words of true prayer, and the poor, erring,